


Epitaph

by unveiled



Series: Snippets [11]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Haunting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 17:25:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unveiled/pseuds/unveiled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And death shall have no dominion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Epitaph

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by and written for [this beautiful piece of fanart by palalife](http://palalife.tumblr.com/post/25891039788/yellow-rose-love-and-friendship-blue-rose-the) \-- and, honestly, the story loses something without the visual accompaniment. Originally posted [at my Tumblr](http://thoughtsnotunveiled.tumblr.com/post/26116855127/palalife-yellow-rose-love-and-friendship-blue).
> 
> Much love to the XMRB chat for the genesis of this story.

They buried him in a bed of yellow roses, blooming like miniature suns under the somber colours of Charles's suit and the dark brown of his hair. Erik had placed a single blue rose over Charles's clasped hands, crossing his pale, still fingers. Under the formaldehyde and the crisp chypre of Charles's cologne, the flowers had no real scent, all the wildness bred out of them.

So too was the green turf that covered where the earth was broken for Charles's body, then poured in around his coffin. In months to come the grass would be carefully manicured, trimmed and contained, utterly unsuited to the power wielded in life by the one who lay under it. But the sky was a blazing blue that day — perfect, Erik thought, and nothing like the ashes and smoke of his nightmares.

Erik packed his bags on the night of the funeral. The mansion sank, groaning, under the weight of their collective grief: Raven and a bottle of scotch purloined from Charles's study, Alex crouched in the bunker, Sean and Hank drowsing shoulder-to-shoulder. Moira would have to decide on lies to tell the CIA without him. Right now he didn't _care_ , unmoored in the nebulous "some day" he never truly planned for.

A sharp tap on his window made him spin around, gun flying from the dresser to his hand. Pale hands flickered at the edge of his vision, a face pressed almost to the glass—

But there was nothing. Just his imagination, over-active after Charles's loss. Erik lay down on his bed, still dressed in his funereal suit, exhausted beyond measure. He shut his eyes and said to himself, firmly, _Tomorrow_.

The memory shadowed his footsteps through the day, making him snappish. Raven didn't come out from her room at all. He pretended not to see the others casting looks at each other, and fled from their well-meaning concern.

His room was silent and empty, as it was yesterday and would be again. He tucked the gun — _Moira_ 's gun — under his pillow. The moonlight cast shadows across the floor, catching in a mirror to reflect onto the ceiling. He watched the sway of the branches in the wind, the occasional owl's feathery wings, the flickering shape of a man.

 _Erik_ , whispered a voice. He turned over in his bed, ignoring the impression of a palm against the glass of his bedroom window, fading into the chill.


End file.
